


Burning

by professortennant



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Firefighters, Episode: s06e19 The Changeling, F/M, Locker Room, Quickie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 10:43:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15839613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professortennant/pseuds/professortennant
Summary: Set in the Changeling 'verse. Sam returns to the firehouse after a close call and Jack doesn't give a damn how dirty she is--he needs to touch her.





	Burning

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [PepperF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF) in the [FandomRevival](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/FandomRevival) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Dirty and sweaty and covered in soot.

He’s waiting for her when the fire truck rolls back into the bay and he watches from the window in his office as she helps the crew strip down the truck and gear. He grins as his second in command barks orders at the probie to get scrubbing before turning on her heel and heading for the locker rooms. 

 

The jog down the stairs to intercept her is the most action he’s seen today. It’s been budget meetings and fundraising meetings and recruitment meetings and—meetings, is his point. There have been a _lot_ of meetings. 

 

So he’s got some pent up energy and he’s _missed_ her. This thing between them is still new and wild and if he were a man who liked clichés, he might even make a comment about wild fires and sparks. But he’s not that kind of man and he’s pretty sure she’d laugh in his face if he ever said something like it. 

 

The door to the locker room is still swinging when he slips inside and he grins at the trail of gear she’s left behind. For all of Carter’s meticulous focus on firehouse cleanliness and rules, she’s a down right slob. 

 

He kinda loves that he knows this about her. 

 

He follows her trail of clothes around the corner and finds her humming softly to herself, head buried in the bottom of her locker for her towel and body wash. She’s stripped down to a sports bar and her black uniform pants and it’s a lot of bare skin for him to take in all at once. 

 

“You just gonna stand there and look or what, Chief?”

 

_Yeah, he’s missed her_. He grins lazily and leans against the locker bay, enjoying the view of her standing before him. Her face is streaked with soot and ash, flakes of debris—maybe burning paper—are tangled in her hair, and the dirt on her face and shoulders and hands are streaked through with sweat. 

 

He steps forward into her space and she doesn’t step back, just waits for him. He drags a finger down her cheek, fingertip pulling through the dirt on her skin and looking questioningly at her. 

 

“How close was it?”

 

She shrugs and drops her eyes, playing absentmindedly with the edge of the towel she’s still holding. “It was fine; nothing we couldn’t handle.”

 

“Carter…” he says warningly. He cups her jaw and tilts her face up, forcing her eyes up. He takes inventory of her, then. The pink abrasions on her collar and jaw seem to be the extent of it. Beyond that, she’s just dirty. 

 

She sighs and lets him tilt her head this way and that, cataloguing her body. “T and I had it under control,” she reassures him. “It was just a little backdraft. We were fine.”

 

“Promise?”

 

She rolls her eyes and holds up her hand between them, pinky extended. “I’ll even pinky promise.”

 

It’s childish and exactly the kind of humor that makes them both laugh. It doesn’t stop him from hooking his pinky around hers and tugging her closer to him, his lips hovering just over hers. 

 

“Pinky promise is a serious business.”

 

“Jack? Shut up.”

 

He grins and drops his lips to hers, mumbling against her lips, “Yes, ma’am.”

 

She sighs into his kiss and disentangles their pinkies so she can slide her hands up around his shoulders and neck, keeping him close. He hums against her mouth appreciatively and spins them around, stumbling back into the locker bay and pressing her against the cool metal.

 

Sam gasps at the temperature change and he presses his advantage, ever the tactician, and dips his tongue into her mouth, licking at her lips and sucking on her tongue until she’s writhing beneath him. Her hands trail down over the bars on his shoulder and the ribbons on his chest before settling low on his hips, tugging the shirt from his pants. 

 

He breaks the kiss and slots a thigh between her legs. She sinks down against him and rocks, creating friction where she needs it most. His fingers tug at the band of her sports bra insistently when he feels Sam start to shake against him. 

 

Frowning, he looks up at her and is surprised to see her laughing. He raises an eyebrow. “Carter, you wanna let me in on the joke here before my fragile male pride is wounded by your laughter when I’m doing some of my best work?”

 

She bites her lip and reaches a hand up, fingers tracing over his lips and cheeks. “We may want to take this to the shower before we go any further. I didn’t realize how filthy I was.”

 

The small handheld mirror in the locker next to them shows him exactly what she means. Where their faces have been pressed together, where his cheeks have rubbed against her collarbones, where her hands have trailed over his uniform: he is covered in soot and dirt.

 

He kisses her soundly, pressing his thigh up between her legs and grinning satisfactorily at the heat he finds there. “No shower,” he decides, pressing a kiss to her palm and encouraging her to touch him wherever she pleases. He wants a road map of this moment, evidence of her touch. 

 

She groans when he ducks his head and nuzzles at the underside of her jaw, tongue sneaking out to taste the combination of soot, smoke, and Sam. She rocks down on his thigh and threads her fingers through his hair, encouraging him. 

 

Sex at the firehouse isn’t new to them, but sex in the shared, public locker room _is_ and he knows this will have to be quick. He palms her breast through the thick fabric of her sports bra and even here he can feel how aroused she is, her nipples hard and insistent against his palm. He nips at her collarbone and dips his tongue into the hollow of her throat.

She makes a gasping, gurgling noise of pleasure that has him pressing his hips against hers, letting her feel how hard and wanting he is against her hip. 

 

“Gonna be quick,” he gasps out, hands working at the buttons of her trousers. It’s all kinda working for him: Sam, the dirt and soot, the rushed and hurried pace. 

 

She hums in agreement with his assessment of the situation, following his lead, and makes quick work of his belt and pants as well. If they were at home, he’d take his time. He’d spread her out beneath him and push her thighs apart and settle between her legs and nose at her sex and tease her with his fingers, mouth and tongue. He’d tongue at her until she was shaking and begging him to fill her. 

 

But he doesn’t have time for that—well, not all of that. 

 

He slips his hand between her legs and groans at the sheer heat and slickness there, dragging his fingers through her wetness and smearing it up over her clit, using her own juices as lubrication as he pressed down on her clit, rubbing in small, tight circles. 

 

“Fuck, Jack,” she gasps, leg stepping out of her pants and hitching up over his hip to give him better access, jerking towards him as his thick fingers worked her over. 

 

He ducks his head and kisses the profanity from her tongue. She writhes against him and he knows they need to pick this up. Probie and T will be done with the truck any moment. He’d rather draw this out—for both of their sakes. 

 

Sam seems to sense his urgency because she’s pushing at his open pants and tugging on his boxers. “Please,” she pants, hand drifting to his backside and grabbing a handful of his six and dragging him close. 

 

“God, Sam.” He buries his face in her neck and licks at the dirt along the cords of her neck, teeth grazing over the skin. He hits a sensitive spot and Sam groans, hand ghosting over his cock and wrapping around the hard length of him.

 

“Now,” she commands, guiding him to her and squeezing him lightly, feeling the drops of precum smear over her palm and thighs as he settles between her legs.

 

Bracing himself with a hand on the locker next to her head, he slips up and into her in one, smooth motion. The first stroke of his cock inside her is heat and wetness and she’s so goddamn tight, he’s glad he doesn’t have to last long. 

 

And then Sam wraps her leg around his hip more firmly and draws him in with a guttural, “ _Jack…”_ and all thoughts escape him. He pulls out, just barely, and then back in, setting a quick, punishing pace.

 

The lockers rattle with their movements and he can feel sweat and pleasure curling and coiling over his back and spine. Sam clings to him, planting open-mouthed, sloppy kisses the parts of him she can reach: his neck, his jaw, his mouth, the dip of his throat.

 

“Close,” he grunts. “Fuck, _Sam.”_

She slips a hand between their bodies and rubs at her clit in counter to his thrusts. He growls and bats her hand away. “I’ll take care of you,” he growls out and it feels more like a promise and a threat. 

 

His thumb—thick and callused and strong—works at her clit, rubbing and pulling lightly until she is panting in his ear a litany of, “ _Yes, God, yes. Jack—please.”_

 

She curls herself around his body, lets the heat of his body warm her and the length of his cock stretch and fill her, fanning the flames of pleasure within her. She groans at the thought. God, a fire cliché. 

 

And then he shifts, dips his knees and thrusts up and changes the angle and—“ _Fuck, yes, Jack. Right there, right there…”_

 

He grits his teeth and staves off his own orgasm, can feel his balls tightening. He wants—needs—her to come first. And like he wills it, she clenches around him and gasps and pants his name before sinking her teeth into his shoulder to muffle her orgasm.

 

The combination of the pain in his shoulder from her teeth and the tightness of her body clenching around his cock, pulling and milking him for everything he’s got, is enough to push him over the edge he was barely hanging onto and he thrusts again, emptying himself inside of her.

 

The lockers finally stop shaking, but Sam shakes against him, shivering from he onslaught of pleasure and the chill of the locker room finally settling in. He plants a kiss at the base of her throat and then lets his lips wander a trail over her jaw before settling on her lips, nipping at her bottom lip lightly. 

 

“Okay, _now_ you can shower.”

 

He kisses her again and steps back, turning and searching for her towel that was dropped somewhere in the vicinity of the locker room bench, giving her time to tug her pants back up around her. Grabbing the towel and spinning to face her, he is once more met with her amusement. 

 

“Uh, Jack? I think you meant _we_ can take a shower.”

 

He looks at her in wry amusement. “Carter, as thrilled as I am with your assessment of my refractory period, but, I’m gonna need a couple minutes before I can go again in the showers.”

 

She smacks his chest and then bites her lip to hold back a giggle, looking him up and down. “Take a look in the mirror, Chief.”

 

He stumbles to the full length mirror on the opposite wall and freezes when he sees what caused her so much mirth. He looks like he himself recently went out on a call. His uniform is covered in soot and dirt, his skin marred with it everywhere that she kissed and rubbed herself against him. 

 

Behind him, Sam is shaking with giggles, gathering her towel and body wash and smacking him on the ass. “If you’d just listened to me earlier and we _started_ in the showers, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

 

He grabs her around the waist, stopping her from disappearing into the shower stall. “Who said this wasn’t part of my plan in the first place?” He dips his head and presses a quick kiss to the curve of her neck. 

 

She pulls back and gives him a look and he acquiesces. “Okay, fine, fine. You told me so, happy?”

 

There’s a pause and she tilts her head, looking him up and down, and then she leans forward and presses her lips to his, softly. “Yeah,” she says simple. “I am.”

 

And that? That sends his heart into flames and he’s burning for her and all of those other fire clichés they both hate. He shrugs and follows her into the stall, thinking maybe his knee can manage a few minutes on the cold tile if it means he can finally get his tongue on her sex. 

 

This is the kind of meeting he’s more than happy to attend.

 


End file.
